Effie Trinket Reaping Day Ceremonies
by TheGirlWithTheStories
Summary: The Hunger Games, a fantastic futuristic novel about a totalitarian government forcing its districts to give up two tributes to participate in a horrid display of brute homicide. We all know what Katniss Everdeen is thinking, but what about Effie Trinket?


TheGirlWithTheStories

THE HUNGER GAMES

CHAPTER ONE: EFFIE TRINKET BEFORE, DURING, AND AFTER THE REAPING:

I can't. I can't. My makeup will run and then they'll have to redo the entire thing. We surely don't have time for that painstaking process. No, I can't cry. Not here. Not now. I take a deep breath and fan at my face. Alright. I go up in ten minutes. To go play the part of the horrid monster who reaps children and whisks them away to their deaths. The tears threaten to make a reappearance. No, I've been doing this for too many years. I can't do it again. What if I pull a young child this time? Just a little twelve year old girl that the Peacekeepers will rip away from her family and send her to get slaughtered? She'll walk up to the stage, tears streaming down her face and her voice choked up. I can't go through that. I'll break down. But I can't lose it, if I do I sign my death warrant. I force the tears back and take some shaky breaths.

Five minutes left; cue the prep team the Capitol assigned me for Reaping Day ceremonies. Composed of the colorful Celestia, Terrance, and Ficah, the three swoop in, touch up my makeup, and straighten out my ensemble with such swift movements that I didn't even have time to say hello before they were on me. I have to look my very best for the camera they say. They've been around since I started giving the speeches. I am quite fond of them actually, especially Celestia as she seems to be the only partially sane one out of the three. She is also my clothing designer; she likes to keep busy. The other two are her assistants; they don't look very capable, but you give them a palette of eye shadows and they will transform you into a splendor more radiant than the sun. Ficah and Terrance get a bit too ecstatic about what's "in style" at the Capitol; give them two free minutes and they'll give you an hour's-worth of arguments about why the color orange is so _in_ this season. Their arguments are quite amusing and often end with one threatening to give the other a new facial tattoo while they sleep.

Celestia looks at me concerned, "Smile, Effie, let's see those teeth!" I don't want to tip anybody off; I push my feelings aside and give them my best Reaping Day smile. Celestia doesn't seem convinced but I suppose she understood considering the circumstances of it being Reaping Day and all. The others weren't so calculative and bought it quite easily. Terrance claps his hands in approval and hands me a mirror. "Beautiful! You are _gorgeous_!" Ficah squeals. Actually, I think I look a little scary. I hope nobody gets as scared as I did when I looked in that mirror. I peeked out from behind the curtain; District Twelve began to fill in the square. They had just started to come in and it was already so compact I had no idea what to think except: _How can I send two of these children to their deaths?_ I walked onstage and took my seat; my Reaping Day smile shining even though I felt dead inside.

I noticed immediately that Haymitch Abernathy was missing. The damned drunkard. Mayor Undersee leaned over and whispered to me asking where he was. "I don't know. We have to start regardless if Mister Abernathy is missing or the Capitol will have our heads!" I whispered sharply. The clock struck two. Mayor Undersee and I both looked worriedly at each other and then at the chair. I think we were more fearful about the thought of whether or not the Capitol would punish us for his absence. I mouthed 'Can't wait' to him and he began the ceremony. If we stalled we would have been disciplined for sure. As he started with the same old stories of our history and the rebellion that led to the "obliteration" of poor District Thirteen, my mind began to wander. I could never concentrate during these long stories. History was never my best subject. Just then a drunken Haymitch begins to yell something incomprehensible and stumbles onto the stage. He slumps into the chair next to me and gives me a toothy smile. Oh! The nerve of that man! I would have slapped him right then and there if I didn't have to keep this damned effervescent attitude. The crowd lightly applauses for Haymitch's appearance and I tried to look genuinely happy, but he stupidly attempts to give me a bear hug – which I just barely managed to escape; his hand catches a couple of my curls and moves my perfectly positioned wig out of place. I tried to straighten it back up, but I desperately needed a mirror. I suppose I won't be able to pull off a natural look now. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Undersee looking grim, I know exactly what he's thinking and try to move along the program seeing as though we are being televised nationwide and are currently the laughingstock of Panem. I try and give my best bubbly attitude (complete with smile) and I trot to the podium.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" It's how I start every year. Then I go into a Capitol-made speech about what an honor it is to be here at the District Twelve reaping and so on and so forth. Finally it's time to choose the names. "Ladies first!" I subtly wipe my hands on my suit and dig my hand deep into the glass ball to hide my shaking hand. I unraveled it and smoothed it out. It was eerily quiet; I looked up over the slip and out into the crowd. Everyone looked tremendously afraid or extremely anxious. Well, I really couldn't blame them. Plus, my faux ecstatic smile probably didn't help any. I read out the name, "Primrose Everdeen," and my heart gets ripped out and crushed by a mischievous Lady Luck as a small twelve year old girl takes a deep breath and calmly starts to make her way towards the stage.


End file.
